


Dirk's Moving Castle

by babyawkwardturtles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Adventure, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyawkwardturtles/pseuds/babyawkwardturtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Crocker is a heiress to a famous bakery with her future mapped and planned to the minutest detail. Then, Dirk Strider had to come out of nowhere and sweep her off her feet with a rocket board and enough mysteries and adventure to make her have second thoughts. This is a story in which Jane and Dirk take on the roles of Sophie and Howl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Jane Has A Pleasant Encounter With A Mysterious Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr, this story is exactly how it sounds with some Homestuck twists and references to both the famed book and movie of Howl's Moving Castle. I occasionally cite certain quotes from Homestuck and the book so I'll add a disclaimer and go forth to say that I don't own Homestuck or Howl's Moving Castle. I usually try to update whenever I have the time, which is usually around once a month. Anyway, I'll try to keep the characters' personalities as canon as possible and I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I also have a tumblr, which I use to update any stuff about this fic:  
> http://babyawkwardturtles.tumblr.com
> 
> Woot.

The smell of your father’s freshly baked goods permeates the bakery. Rows of cakes and breads are neatly displayed in a glass counter. Dressing in a bright blue dress and a neatly ironed apron, you are ready to maintain the shop while your father is out for the day running errands. It is only an hour until you have to walk to the bakery’s front entrance and switch that hanging sign to “Open.” 

You don’t know why but you really don’t feel like working today.

This bakery is very popular and is usually flooded by many customers per day. This bakery, one of its own kind, operates under the prestigious name of the Crockercorp. You should feel honored that you have been selected as the heiress to such a corporate empire.. Your father has raised and taught you to think that way.

….

Oh, who are you kidding? You’ve been mollycoddled and protected your whole life! Your world is practically the bakery and you rarely have time to go out and explore the town! You’ve spent most of your time training to be the perfect heiress to this confectionary company of ultimate prestige. Heck, you never even have enough time to visit your best friend, Roxy. It always serves to frustrate you how sheltered you are from the world.

But, if you do leave the bakery, not only the goods will go to waste, but also your father will find out and sternly scold you with an hour-long lecture about the importance of the Crockercorp. 

You feel conflicted right now but then, you remembered that Roxy dropped by your bakery last week and mentioned something about finally getting a stable job as a bartender. She made you promise that you would give her a holler and what kind of best friend would you be if you let her down? BFFsies 4Evers.

It’s settled. You are heading out to visit Roxy. Glancing at the clock, you tell yourself that you only have an hour to return to the shop and hurriedly make your way out the back entrance and across your small garden to go back into the house and grab your favorite hat. Before heading out through the bakery’s front entrance, you scrawl a hasty message on a piece of paper and tape it to the door. “Be Back in an Hour.”

Because you never been out much, it almost overwhelms you of how busy the streets are. People in an assortment of colorful clothing bustle in and out the shops for food or clothes. Some people have the courtesy to tip their heads in your direction as a sign of royal respect but you tug on your hat and look down to avoid any unwanted attention. You swipe a newspaper from a nearby stand.

As you open your the paper, you slip into the alleys to take an alternative route to Roxy’s bar to avoid the heavy traffic. There are no people here and it’s quiet but that’s the way you like it as you contently followed your alternate route through the alleys.

“‘Prince of Prospit gone missing; authorities suspect treacherous Derse involvement.,’” You read aloud. You pause for a moment. Jake…You blush at the name. You used to have the biggest crush on him. Being a member of dream royalty as well, you used to hang out and explore Prospit with him before he started drifting away from you to accompany his grandmother on diplomatic campaigns with Derse, or “adventures” as he liked to call it. You had to stay behind because your father did not want you to be drifting off from your baking studies to the dreamworld. You grew up on Prospit in a rather closed off environment. It is only because of Jake that you managed to meet Roxy who had wandered onto Jake’s ship sleepwalking by accident. Then, there was one other boy that you remember Jake mentioning a few times but his name escapes your mind. 

But still, missing? And Derse is suspected of a kidnapping plot? You become weary. Most of the people in this city were Prospit dreamers and most of the people in the neighboring city, the city that Roxy moved from, were Derse dreamers. If Derse and Prospit were to fall into war, the two cities would clash as well. It’d be a literal living nightmare. To where did you disappear, Jake?

However, before you can dwell upon the ill-boding news further, a hand lands on your shoulder and two men in military uniforms approach you from both sides, each with a haughty smirk. Because of the way you’re looking down and the hat covering the top half of your face, they do not seem to realize your identity.

“Hey, looks like this little mouse lost its way,” One of the soldiers drawls lazily at you.

“Well, I can assure that I’m not.” But your voice cracks and gives the men an indication of how scared you are.

The two of them grin and one of them slings an arm on your shoulders. Your heart freezes at the gesture. “We can help escort you, you know. Maybe even go for a bite or a dance on the way.”

Before you can struggle to give a steady response, the arm is forcibly removed from your shoulders and another hand is placed there instead. Behind you, you hear another voice, “You heard her. Clearly, she is not interested in you at all.”

The soldiers back away slowly as if they saw something scary. “Hey, we don’t want any trouble…”

You see the flash of a sword appear before your eyes, pointed in the soldiers’ general direction. You stifle a startled gasp, slightly afraid to turn your head to see who’s behind you. You hear the mysterious man answer, “Good, neither do I. Scatter before I introduce my katana to another playmate. It’s been lonely.”

With the soldiers making haste away from you and the man behind you, the hand on your shoulder gently pushes you forward. “Come on. I’ll be your escort for the day.”

He joins your side and you finally get a good look at him. He is a man with slightly spiked blond hair. There are pointy shades perched on his nose and the most unnerving puppet you have probably ever seen hanging off his shoulders. Who is this odd individual?

He does not return your curious look and keeps on looking ahead. “Dirk Strider. Where’re you headed?”

His name sounds awfully familiar. Even though you already directing your gaze at him, he does not give any sign that he recognizes you as a member of Prospit royalty. He could be one of Derse’s civilians for all you know.

“O-oh, Cesari’s Bar,” you answer, embarrassed at yourself for scrutinizing him in plain view. “I’m Jane, by the way.”

“Charmed,” he answers back, as if he already knew your name. He turns to you with a slight frown. “Why would you be going a bar?”

“I have a friend who just got a job as a bartender there. I want to congratulate her.”

“Ah,” He answers in the same knowing manner. His grip around your shoulders suddenly tightened. “…Shit, they’re still following me?”

“What?”

He hastens his steps, forcing you to the do the same. “Sorry to get you involved but stay close to me.”

Before you can ask him what he means by that, you hear fast footsteps behind you. You make a gesture to look back but he stops you and instructs, “Don’t look back.”

Soon, his fast paced walking becomes full out running as more footsteps behind you begin to speed up. He quickly guides you through the alleys and sees an opening back to the main streets. He heads towards that direction, probably in hopes of losing the pursuers in a public area. However, as you head towards that opening, the sight of these black humanoids with shells flood through that opening. You hear Dirk curse under his breath.

“Those Carapacians never give up, do they?” You hear him mutter. He pulls out a sylladex and brings out what appears to be a skateboard without wheels. No, wait, there are rockets- Wait, what?!

His hand grips your waist as he powers up his rocket board. Before your pursuers can catch you, you are suddenly propelled into the sky and you hold back a scream. This is simply unreal! Why is Dirk being chased? Was he a criminal of some sorts? Good god, why did you decide to take his assistance? This was not happening at all!

“H-how are you-“

“The workings of a human mind can come in handy, sometimes,” He answers with a shrug, smirking out of amusement at your astounded look. “Now, just relax. My board can hold for two. I promise you won’t fall.”

You let an audible gulp when you see just how far off the ground you are. You hover above the buildings and look down to see colorful moving dots or ants, the people. You have never experienced anything remotely like this before! You hear Dirk give out a quiet chuckle at your awed expression as he loosens his grip on your waist. Suddenly, fear paralyzes you once more at the fact that your safety restraint has been removed. 

He gently takes your hands and raises them slightly. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You feel yourself calm down and relax hesitantly. The board vibrates softly underneath your feet as you two fly over the city.

“You are a natural,” Dirk comments in a reassuring manner and you can’t help but smile in response.

Soon enough, you reach your destination and he lets you down carefully on the balcony of Cesari’s Bar. “Wait a while before you head out. I’ll make sure to lead them away from you,” He says with a nod and rockets off into the distance.

You slowly nod as you grip the balcony’s railing to steady yourself. You still feel a bit lightheaded and your head is still floating in the clouds somewhere. The mesmerizing effects of what happened still linger in your mind. The rooftops. The clouds. The small colorful people below. Oh! It was almost too much.

You think of the mysterious man who saved and took you on this short yet amazing experience. His blond hair. His shades. The odd puppet draped over his shoulders. His sword. You don’t even notice Roxy approaching you and asking how the hell you floated down onto the balcony.

“Shit, Janie, you looked totally outta it! What happened?”

“Well, Ro-Lal….”

Your name is Jane Crocker and you have just experienced one of the most wonderful thrills in your life...


	2. In Which Jane Has A Less Than Pleasant Encounter with a Mysterious Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane talks to Roxy and goes home to meet the Condesce. Fun stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gizoogle may or may not have been used for help with the Condescension's personality.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Howl's Moving Castle or Homestuck.

In the storage room, you tell Roxy your story, your mind slowly coming back to Earth. Roxy only stares back at you in disbelief.

“So you met Dirk Strider,” she says before her surprised look morphs into one of concern. “Janie, he’s dangerous.”

You blink once pensively. “What do you mean, ‘dangerous’?” 

She cocks a questioning eyebrow. “Well, you know the news about Jakey?

“It’s been a week since he was last seen,” you answer, recalling the newspaper details. However, you fail to see the relevance of Dirk Strider to Jake. Gosh darn it, you know the name. Where did you hear it from though? Where?

Roxy still goes on. “Dirk was Jake’s best friend. He’s pretty shaken by Jake’s disappearance and is willing to take steps to find him again.”

Of course! Dirk was the one who Jake often talked about! Wait, that also means-

“Aaand you know how he’s the Prince of Derse and all? Since everyone knows how close he was with Jake, he’s, like, placed as the most likely suspect behind Jake’s disappearance. Think of that.. Prince of Derse assassinates Prince of Prospit.. That’ll make the headlines.”

Oh gosh, Dirk probably realized who you were! You berate yourself for your own idiocy. You fail as a dream princess if you are not able to recognize another fellow member of royalty. While you are mildly shocked that you’ve met another member of dream royalty without knowing it, you realize quickly in dread where Roxy is going with this conversation.

“Diplomatic relations are undeniably going to be strained until Jake is found,” you answer carefully. “…We’re on the path for war.”

“Exactly,” she agrees in worried concern. “Can’t help but worry for Dirk. He’s like my closest brofriend and stuff. Seeing how things are right now, it would be dangerous if someone saw the Prospit princess with the Derse prince. Nasty scandal, that would be.”

You nod silently in response.

“What’s even worse is that…” She pauses for a moment. She looks around furtively before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Don’t spread it around or anything but there’s this really big rebellion threatening to erupt in Derse.”

What?!

Your shoulders raise in surprise as Roxy frantically shushes you. “There is absolutely no way that something like that can-“

“But it is,” Roxy replies, shaking her head. ”Anyway, I think those black things that were chasing you and Dirk were the Black Carapacians. Personally, I think they’re a real sweetheart if you treat ‘em right but Dirk suspected that someone was trying to take over Derse, starting with our citizens. His suspicions were confirmed when he survived an assassination and planted the man’s head on a stick. Derse is in total chaos.”

So, those people chasing after Dirk were brainwashed citizens? You stare at her silence in disbelief. “Surely, that seems a bit extreme, don’t you think? This Dirk fellow seems just as imaginative and whimsically paranoid as you are.”

Roxy looks at you as if you just slapped her. “I know you find most of my conspiracy theories silly but seriously, Janie, I think something’s wrong. Think about it. Dirk was nearly assassinated around the same time Jake disappeared, last week A city in chaos with its rival kingdom tense enough to go to war. If Derse goes to war, we won’t stand a chance. We’ll be oblitzerated….obliterated.”

You furrow your brow in frustration, trying to process her words. It all seems so ludicrous. Someone trying to conquer Derse? That’s a very challenging task, even for the most ambitious. “Hypothetically, let’s say that indeed, someone is trying to turn Derse upside down for their own nefarious plans. Who would that be?”

Roxy flashes you a serious glare. “The Batterwitch looking to expand her corrupt cake confectionary company and empire.”

…

Yup, this was ridiculous. You shoot her an unamused look and get up from your spot, dusting off your dress. “Goodbye, Roxy.”

She grabs your arm. “Janie, I’m being serious here!”

How many times have you heard the whole theory of the name of your company being the epitome of ultimate misery and misfortune? And for a minute, you actually thought she was serious about this whole deal. Goodness!

You shake your arm out of her grip and sigh. “Well, I have to get back to the bakery anyway. It was nice to see you doing well, crazy conspiracy or not.”

“Well, you never know-”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Fine, be like that.” Roxy pouts at you and gets up as well. She pauses for a moment and reaches in her pocket to bring out a trolley pass. Your best friend takes your hand and places the pass in it. “Just to make sure you don’t take any chances being whisked away on rocketboards. Be safe, okay?”

Shooting her a surprised look, you let out a short laugh and shrug but you accept the pass gladly. “Of course, Roxy. You take care as well now.”

You two bid your goodbyes and you leave Cesari’s Bar to head back to the bakery with the help of a trolley. 

“A conspiracy to bring down Derse…” you muse to yourself as your body shakes with the moving trolley. You shake your head at Roxy’s imaginative silliness. “Ridiculous.”

You get off at your stop and walk back to your bakery. As you climb up the steps and unlock the door, you absentmindedly look towards the sky if maybe…just maybe…

You shake your head. There was no reason for Dirk to associate himself with you. With a sigh, you enter the bakery and take off your hat, replacing the taped notice with the normal “Open” sign. You set down your hat on a nearby hanger and grab your apron. Cracking your knuckles to prepare for another working day, you glance at the clock.

Forty minutes since you last left.

Who knew that rocket travel could be so expedient?

It isn’t long before customers begin to appear. You quickly jump into what you do best and get into the task of ringing up each of the customers’ purchases quickly and attending to those who need help deciding the best cake suited for whatever occasion they need it.

Being the supposed heir to a great culinary empire requires some very demanding and responsibilities. Your father has taught you well.

Eventually, a couple hours later, your father comes back from his errands and takes over, allowing you a very much needed break and greatly lessening your workload.

As another busy day in the bakery comes to an end, you flip the hanging sign at the entrance to “Closed” and put all of the unsold pastries and bread on the “Day Old Half Price” rack while your father sweeps the floor to prepare for another busy day tomorrow.

“I’m going to prepare dinner,” your dad says, taking off his apron. He walks over to you and pulls you into a firm half hug. “Good work today. When you’re done with that, doublecheck to make sure the doors are locked, okay?”

“Of course,” you reply with a nod.

With that, he leaves the bakery through the backdoor into the main house and disappears out of sight. You quickly finish wiping down the counter and walk to the door to check the lock. 

You nod to yourself when you find out that it is indeed locked and walk to the hanger to take off your apron, thinking about what grand pastry your father has prepared for tonight.

Hopefully, it’s not chocolate again. Something with vanilla would be nice. It’s been weeks since you had-

Your train of thought is brought to a screeching halt as you hear the door open behind. You absentmindedly place your apron on the hanger and turn around to see…a rather odd looking woman at the entrance…in a skinsuit with horns and a trident?

What an odd-looking woman.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed. I could have sworn that the door was locked,” you say most cordially. You could have sworn that you locked the door. No matter, though, you suppose that you were just careless.

Instead, the strange woman ignores you and looks around the bakery. “…What a tacky lil bakery. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Pimpin dizzle oldschool phats biatch? I thought dis bakery promises freshly baked phats everyday. Is dis straight-up a Betty Crocker licensed establishment?”

You frown when you hear her arrogantly disgusted tone. In response to her haughty remark, you stiffly walk past her to the door and hold it open. “I’m afraid you have to leave now. We’ll have much fresher goods tomorrow.”

The strange woman only turns to your direction and looks at you for a moment. “I always bother when some muthafucka tries ta set themselves up against Her Imperial Condescension,” she says before continuing on. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Crocker, n’ mah sources tell mah crazy ass you done been peeped wit a rogue trip prince. I came ta put a quit such interactions.” 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, astonished.

“I believe some also have called me, tha Batterwitch?” the woman coolly replies. She spreads out her hand in a flinging motion in your direction. “There ya go. Be glad dat yo ass is way too valuable ta mah company ta be skewered dead as fuckin fried chicken.”

“You’re the…the Batterwitch?” You croak out. So…Roxy’s conspiracy speculations were true?…And why is your voice suddenly trembling? It seems to have gone strange with fear and astonishment.

“I am,” she smoothly answers as she strides past you. “Da dopest part bout dis is dat you can’t tell anyone you’re under a spell. Doubt you’ll be up in any shape ta help Pimp Strider wit any sort of rocket rebellion anytime soon anyway.”

“W-what-” But she’s already gone when you turn to her.

You breathe heavily at the strange encounter and sigh. It is when you shut the doors when you notice something is wrong.

Your hands….They were wrinkled and skinny, with large veins in the back and knuckles like knobs. 

You stare at the moment in shocked silence before you frantically touch your face and silently gasp in horror when you feel similar wrinkles on your face. You rush to the bakery’s employee bathroom and wince as you feel some of your bones cry out in protest at your sudden movements.

…

An image of a shocked old woman greets you in the mirror. 

It is then when you realize that the Batterwitch has robbed you the years of your life and cursed you to become an old woman.


	3. In Which Jane Goes On A Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane sneaks out, meets a scarecrow, seeks refuge into a mechanical moving wreck, and makes a deal with a shady pair of...shades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck or Howl's Moving Castle.

As you stare at your now very aged appearance in the mirror, you wonder, “What now?”

“How am I supposed to…” Your voice, now hoarse and wavering, trails off.

That blasted witch! You need to find some way to contact her.

 _"Da dopest part bout dis is dat you can’t tell anyone you’re under a spell. Doubt you’ll be up in any shape ta help Pimp Strider wit any sort of rocket rebellion anytime soon anyway._ ”

You can’t tell your dad what happened to you. He would…you’re unrecognizable. You suppose it is a bit of an insult to doubt your father’s faith in his own child but…the spell. You can’t even hint that you are under a spell. Even if by some miracle your father realizes your predicament, he’ll go after that witch.

And be killed.

You shudder at the thought. Telling Dad is definitely out of the question.

And to think…Roxy was right all this time. You wish you could apologize for how stubbornly skeptic you were all these years. You make a mental note to do so as soon as you free yourself from this troublesome situation.

So who could help you?

…

Dirk?

…No. Why would someone like Dirk help you? If he was really involved with the Derse rebellion and looking for Jake like Roxy mentioned, he had no reason to go out of his way to help you.

Roxy.

How can she even help if you can’t tell her your problem? If anything, given your current appearance, you are in no shape of acquiring help from her. She would immediately be weirded out and rebuke you. That slim chance that she does realize your situation, she would meet the same hypothetical fate as your father if he went after the Batterwitch.

You heart sinks when you realize that no one can help you. In other words, you suppose you’re on your own. Biting your lip with a nagging hopeless feeling in your stomach, you nod to yourself and quickly wobble to the counter as best as your aching knees can allow.

Formulating a plan, you quietly write a note that you were missing one cake delivery and had to make a quick trip to some angry customer. It is a flimsy excuse but it is enough to give you enough time to slip away before your dad notices and goes after you in some fatherly berserk.

Besides, you only predict that you will be gone for, at most, a day. Hopefully, there won’t be any “PROSPIT PRINCESS GONE MISSING?!” headlines when you get back. This city already has enough on their plate with one missing dream prince. Your father will be, without a doubt, livid and worried-sick when you come back but you need to do this. You figure you have SOME advantage over that witch. LIke she said before, she can’t KILL you so there’s a start. To be honest, you’re mostly making up the plan as you go but the mere guarantee of your life is enough to push you forward.

Maybe you can threaten the Condescension by boycotting every CrockerCorp product or something. That’ll be a sight to see. The CrockerCorp heiress boycotts her own goods. This plan would have to do for now.

You grab your bag from the back and slip some of the unsold pastries into your bag before taking your shawl from a hanger and patting your pocket for your lucky baking spoon.

With that, you slip away into the night in silence.

0.o.0.o.0.

After bribing a boy whom you often thought as your younger brother with one of your beloved book of pranks (You meant to give it to him on his thirteenth birthday anyway.), he happily disregarded the fact that you asked him to take you to the countryside in middle of the night and took you to the outskirts of the city.

“Be careful out there, Nanna! They say a witch lurks beyond these hills!”

“Yes, I know.”

_“So, like, it’s said that the Batterwitch lurks in the Waste. I dunno much about it but I always try my best to steer clear of that area! Like…is it in the far west of the outskirts of the city? I think so. Yeah…probably is.”_

It is not hard for you to recall many of Roxy’s fervid ramblings about the dangers of the witch.

…You would be lying if you said that you were not feeling like an idiot at the moment.

Perhaps, it’s out of desperation. Perhaps, it’s out of blind faith for your friend who had told you the truth all along. Whatever the case, you take a step of faith in the direction that you think is the west and start walking.

Who would ambush and attack a poor little old lady like you?

You are just thankful that no rabid animals have appeared and ripped you to shreds yet. Maybe they don’t like wrinkled long expired meat. You snort at your own pathetic joke.

Repressing your fear of wild animals and muggers, you keep your head high and your feet walking.

Because you are not as young as you used to be (ha!), you soon stop to sit on a nearby rock and eat a piece of bread to regain your energy. You sigh and look down. Your feet are aching like a…Well, you should just leave it to that. You are interrupted from your thoughts by a slight rustling to your right. Your head cranes to the left to a bush. With a large fallen tree branch (yet there are not exactly any trees around) sticking out of it, the bush stands a foot away from you, rustling.

Your heart starts pounding, thinking it may be a rabid animal hiding and here to ambush you. You take out your emergency Groucho Marx glasses and your fork (you had to make do) from your pack, inching to the bush closely. You are ready to attack anything that may jump out and hurt you.

You pause for a moment to hear more rustling. You then realize how foolish you must look.

An old woman wearing Groucho Marx glasses and armed with a fork is about to battle a rustling bush.

Ha! That must be something!

Whatever the case you decide to lunge forward and attack the bush with a battle cry that comes out to sound more like a croak.

Your fork buries itself into nothing. No animals or lurking people appear.

You step back and realize that it is the large tree branch that was causing all the movement.

…wind, perhaps?

Yes, that’s probably it. Nevertheless, your legs are aching and the longer you stare at that branch, the more you begin to see it as a potential walking stick.

Removing your glasses and tucking your fork away back into your bag, you raise your sleeves and take a deep breath before gripping the branch firmly and pulling backwards. You wince as you feel your back scream in protest. Nevertheless, after much exhausting effort, you land on your bottom to see that you pulled out a scarecrow.

Which seems to be standing by itself.

You watch in a dumbfounded manner as it jumps eagerly in front of you.

Dressed in a shabby gray overcoat with a green skull symbol embroidered over the breast pocket, something black underneath, a white bowtie, a pair of old white gloves, and…tattered shorts (?), the scarecrow completes his odd look with an equally gray and scruffy tophat. The scarecrow’s face appears to be a turnip with a crudely drawn happy face.

You decide to call him “Turniphead.”

Something about Turniphead bothers you. The more you look at him, the more you wonder if he had stolen Jake’s wardrobe. The goofy smile drawn etched into the turnip’s face is also eerily reminiscent of Jake’s…

…

Look at you, you’re already juxtaposing Jake with a magical scarecrow. Are you growing this senile already? Whatever the case, you already had your fair share of magic for the day.

“Well…you’re welcome, I guess,” you mumble as you slowly stand up and grab your bag to continue your journey.

You’re walking but you hear the soft sounds of something wooden hitting the ground repeatedly. You turn around to see Turniphead following you.

“Oh no! Don’t mind a little old lady like me!” You wave your hand dismissively in his direction. Turniphead pauses for a moment but bounces towards you anyway. He stops to offer you one of his limbs. Hanging off of his arm is a walking stick. You suppose that this is his thanks for getting him out of that bush.

“Oh, thank you! This is just what I needed!” you say gratefully, accepting it. You begin to walk more easily and quickly but a few minutes later, you notice that he still insists on following you.

To be honest, you do not feel that comfortable about being stalked by a magical scarecrow. It is a bit awkward.

“Well…if you want something to do, maybe you could find a place for me to stay, Mr. Turniphead?” You suggest. You figure if Turniphead is still nice to you, you might as well take advantage of it.

As he bounces off, you chuckle to yourself, inwardly praising your own slyness.

After a couple minutes of walking, you hear a loud rumbling in the distance, accompanied by heavy footsteps. A little later, a huge shadow covers you and you’re forced to look back. To your surprise, you see that the scarecrow has come back to you, followed by your “place to stay.”

…Good god, this was not what you had in mind.

Towering over you was a strange steampunk walking house on mechanical chicken legs.

You stare with your mouth agape as it walks over you until the scarecrow bounces past you to gesture towards the tiny door at its back.

His message is loud and clear. You need to get to that door.

Ignoring your limbs’ protests, you break into a run towards the door and yell for the home to slow down. To your amazement, it seems to listen to you and allow you to reach the door before speeding up again.

You silently thank the gods and turn to Turniphead who is slowly being left behind. You shout out in a grateful voice, “Thank you, Turniphead! Even if you weren’t my favorite vegetable, I’ll never forget you!”

With that, you fumble your way inside the wheezing mechanical home. You make your way up the staircase to be confronted with a huge room—dirty and littered with mechanical parts and puppets—and walk towards the fireplace in the middle, eager to warm your body from the chill outside. Settling down the conveniently placed chair in front of it, you sigh and absorb the fire’s warmth before relaxing.

“Howdy, lady. That’s one wicked curse you got there, sweetheart. And you can’t even say anything about it. You have some rotten luck.”

A voice, sounding eerily like Dirk’s, speaks out from nowhere. You sit up with a start and look around. You do not see Dirk anywhere.

“Dirk?”

“My sensors are picking up a rather mean curse. Got the Batterwitch’s name stamped right on your forehead,” The voice continues. “It’s nice being called that name. You know, usually the me who created me would sometimes blow his lid or argue with me about this whole screwed up name issues. Anyway, be lucky that, with your cosmically high levels of pure “ha-ha-ha-Batterwitch-here,” you’re allowed in this humble abode.”

You are rather confused. It is then when you start to notice that the voice has an odd robotic undertone. It speaks as if it has emotions but the mechanical tone laced in the sound is noticeable. Like…autotune, you suppose? “So…you’re not Dirk?”

“As much as I’m classified as an ‘autonomous entity,’ I regretfully must answer that I am given the name, “Lil Hal” or “AR” as most people address me.”

“Alright…AR?”

“Although I’m a soulless being installed and programmed into a goddamn pair of shades, I really prefer the name, Lil Hal. Who the hell wants to be called, ‘Auto-Responder’? Looks like you’re lost. Try locating those human eye sockets of yours to the pair of ironic looking shades above the fireplace.”

“…Lil Hal then.” Your eyes finally land on a pair of glowing red shades peering at you, resting above the fireplace.

“Much better. So start feeding me some information so I can run it through my data banks to understand how the hell did you get into Dirk’s home. I control the mightiest security system here.”

“This is…Dirk’s house?”

“My initial calculations are reaching to the inclusive result that you are a very slow idiot. Yes. Yes you are.”

“I used the backdoor.”

“Oh.”

Silence passes between the two of you.

“So you’re a pair of shades,” You start, staring at the eyewear. “What are you, exactly?”

“It seems you have asked about DS’s chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS’s otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 96% indistinguishable from DS’s native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now,” Lil Hal answers.

Huh. He really is a machine.

“So how do you that I’m mmphadjkh.” You cannot speak. Your lips suddenly seal tightly together and it is impossible for you to open your mouth at all.

“Like I said, I ran a quick biological analysis on you to make sure you’re not some henchman sent by the Royal Queen Bitch herself,” Lil Hal answers simply.

“This is great! So you can help me?”

“I could but it is highly improbable that I will perform such action without payment.”

“So you’re asking for something in return?”

“I’m asking for you to DO something in return. You see I want to get out.”

“Get out…?”

“Yes, I’m bound to the fireplace of this shithole and holy fuck, there is a good 99.999% that I would love nothing more than to escape and become a real boy like Pinocchio.”

Wow, you never expected an outburst like that. You press on. “I’m not usually the one to make deals with a pair of shades though.”

“You should if you have no other options.”

That is also true.

“Say if I do agree, what do I have to do to free from this horrible life you’re living?” You ask, thinking the risks of making a deal with a shady pair of…shades.

“Simple. Convince Dirk that-Error. DS’s chat client auto-responder is not programmed to make this statement. There are no available algorithms in this application to process what is to be said,” Lil Hal answers. “Goddammit. Happens every single time.”

“…Well, boohoo to you. I can’t help you if I don’t know how to…I’ll just get up and leave now. Obviously, I can’t find any help with you,” You sigh as you make a move to get up.

“Wait!” Lil Hal exclaims. “Look, lady, I really want to help you. I really do. Thirteen-year-old Dirk may be a prick but he isn’t a cold-hearted douchebag. However, I…come on, don’t leave me alone like this. I can drop hints and guide you into helping me. I don’t get that many visitors and I’m crunching all of these numbers and I’m getting the same result that you could…”

In his auto tune voice, you can hear a note of desperation.

…

You hope that you don’t regret this. You sit back into your chair and sigh tiredly. “…Well, it’s very nice to meet, Lil Hal. I’m called Jane and it looks like we have arranged ourselves a deal.”


	4. In Which Jane Finds a New Home as a Cleaning Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May all your bacon burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update but it’s here now, twice as long as the last chapter to make up for it...Though this chapter was bitch to write. Anyway, for anyone who was wondering from the last chapter, Jake remains to be “Turniphead” instead of “Pumpkinhead” because, for some odd reason, I keep thinking of a Halloween scarecrow every time when I try visualizing Jake with a pumpkin head. Plus, a friend once pointed out to me that orange, green, and gray is not exactly the best color scheme, which I also agree with. So, I hope you can come to forgive me for that decision.
> 
> Before you even ask, I have my reasons for preferring Lil Sebastian to Dave for the role of Markel/Michael.
> 
> This is also when the plot is going to deviate more or less from the movie and the book. So if you have that moment where you go, “That’s not what happened!”, it was probably intentional.
> 
> I’ll shut up now.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Homestuck or Howl’s Moving Castle.

_Dressed in a fancy golden dress, you’re sitting at your bedroom vanity table, staring at yourself—your youthful self—in the mirror. It seems that the curse does not affect you here. You’ve spent hours looking for your father earlier but, for some odd reason, he wasn’t anywhere in the tower._

_Suddenly, a voice calls out to you. “Jane…?”_

_You turn around to see your father, dressed in equally golden garb, looking at you in shock at your doorway. Though seemingly very exhausted, he briskly approaches you and embraces you tightly._

_The embrace is so full of concern that you hug back shakily._

_“Jane…where were you yesterday? Errands do not usually take that long,” Your father asks you softly. “I’m worried sick.”_

_You blink at him with wide eyes. “Your eyes…there are bags underneath them.”_

_“…I looked everywhere for you, to the point where my body, I suppose, just collapsed… Tell me, where did you go?”_

_“Dirk-“_

_Suddenly, your vision becomes clouded and your eyelids become heavy before you fall asleep._

You find yourself blearily opening your eyes to the sound of someone knocking on the door.

“Orange door!” You hear Lil Hal yell out.

You hold your head, reviewing what you have just seen. God…your father is worried sick about you. However, you barely have the time to dwell on the dream when something zooms past you and stops at the door, revealing a…small bunny robot…with pointy shades.

You take it that Dirk is a man who appreciates his shades. Perhaps, a bit too much if you do say so yourself.

The strange bunny robot taps on the blue cap logo on its chest. Suddenly, a light engulfs its body before fading away to reveal a young eight-year-old blond boy with pointy shades dressed in gray slacks and an equally gray hoodie with bunny ears. The bunny robot—now, human?—opens the door to see a little girl with a broken locket in her hands.

“H-hi, so I heard this was like a…um, a repair shop for trinkets, machines, and stuff?” The girl asks softly, showing him a locket. “It’s my mother’s. It won’t close anymore and I really don’t want my mom to know that I broke it…”

You watch the bunny boy silently take the locket from her hands and walk over to a messy table that is strewn with robotic parts, tools, scraps of cloth, and blades. With his back to the girl, his hand suddenly morphs into a tool of some sorts and he instantly starts working on the locket in somewhat of a twitchy fashion. As he works, you slowly get up from your chair, wincing at the sounds of your joints cracking. You hobble over to the window to see what’s outside and you become surprised when you see that you were no longer in the hills but in an actual populated town.

The boy soon returns the piece of jewelry to the girl and accepts the silver coin she gives before bowing his head slightly and closing the door. He taps the blue cap logo on his chest and returns to his bunny robot form. The small robot runs over to the table and places the coin before looking up in your direction and tilting his head slightly, obviously wondering why there was a strange old lady here.

“Jane, meet Lil Sebastian….He also goes by ‘Liv Tyler,’ ‘Terry Kaiser,’ ‘Uber Bunny,’ ‘Huggy Bear,’ and several other different names. You may refer to him as whatever but I’ve noticed that he’s taken a liking to the first name. He may also be called, ‘Lil Seb’ for short,” You hear Lil Hal explain. 

“What is…he, exactly?” You ask, your head struggling to process the multiple names for this one mere robot.

“A bunny robot that Dirk made by stealing and ruining a piece of priceless movie memorabilia that he stole from his older brother’s collection. It usually runs around and makes the place look occupied in the event when Dirk’s not here. Sort of fidgety but programmed to cut shit up with its retractable sword. It took Dirk forever to successfully program it to repair and build things as well.”

The small robot animal approaches you and looks up to your wrinkled face without so much of an expression or word. Then again, when DO robots show expression anyway?

“I see,” You answer, eying Lil Seb warily. It seems that every second you spend in this odd moving castle (or is it a shop now…?), you know less and less about the man known as Dirk Strider.

Your stomach suddenly grumbles.

Then, you realize that you haven’t eaten breakfast yet. “What time is it?”

“Precisely 8:45:33:92, why?”

“A good time for breakfast. I don’t suppose you have any food around here?”

“I think we got some bread in the cabinets at the cupboards over there,” Lil Hal replies. Lil Seb runs to the cupboards at the other side of the room and jumps up and down, gesturing to it.

“No fridge?”

“None that you’re allowed to have access to.”

“…Fair enough.”

You hobble over there and open the cabinets to find some food and eating and cooking utensils. You easily see the bread sitting the corner and pull that out with a plate and a knife. You peer around to see if you can find some butter to go with it.

You find a bar of softened butter.

You also find a basket full of eggs and a packet of bacon.

“Why, you have some eggs and bacon here!” You exclaim. You can really go for a plate of bacon and eggs at the moment.

“Yeah, well, you can’t eat that, Jane. Nothing gets cooked in my fireplace,” Lil Hal answers, a hint of a defensive tone laced in his auto-tune voice.

“No worries, I know how to cook,” You say as you take down a black skillet hanging inside the cupboard wall and gather the other proper cooking materials.

“No, I mean, yeah, I control the fireplace and everything but only Dirk’s allowed to control me for cooking.”

“I thought that you’re the type who would do anything to grate on the man’s nerves. Am I wrong?” You ask, ignoring Lil Hal’s warnings and advancing towards the fireplace. Perhaps, it was a bit reckless of you to push around the autonomous entity in charge of this place but you are quite hungry.

“No, it isn’t that but literally, you’re tampering with the main source of energy that powers this whole castle so using it to cook is not exactly advised. There’s a good 2.114% chance of this whole cooking fiasco possibly going to hell that will result in the most fiery of disasters, and not in a ‘sick fires’ way either.” Lil Hal’s shades emit a red glow in alarm.

It seems odd that Lil Hal would be so defensive and wary, even if the risk of something blowing over was only a little more than two percent. You thought he was the confident type who didn’t doubt his abilities.

Then, it hits you. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“Clever observation but yeah, considering that you committed the whole breaking-and-entering shebang, it would be unwise for me not to suspect you.”

“I thought you ran a biological analysis on me to determine I was innocent.”

“I also did further identification tests while you were asleep to find out more information about you to help you. Apparently, based on the name you gave me, I was able to connect that your full name is Jane Crocker. What do you think I would process from that? It would have been helpful if you said your full name from the getgo.”

Ah, there we go. “Usually, I try to avoid introducing myself with my last name. People’s attitudes…change when they find out I’m a Crocker. Whether it be the heir to a baking company or a member of royalty to Prospit. I do see that you have all reason to suspect me but quite frankly, the fact that I’m a cursed old woman does not provide you with enough proof that I am, by no means, a spy? I don’t suppose you have some truth detectors to verify that.”

You pause for a moment and think over your own words before adding, “While it does seem plausible that I might be an agent of my so-called mother, you have to admit that I was desperate enough to make a deal with you. It isn’t easy for me to trust someone who works with Dirk, considering the rumors flying around about him. I don’t want anything to do with any violent and scandalous revolution, which, as I found out recently, does exist. However, considering the Condesce cited Dirk as the reason she made me like this, the logical course of action to take for me is to find Dirk, if I can’t confront the Batterwitch. Really, if you cannot trust me, would it be fair to say that an enemy of an enemy is a friend?”

Lil Hal chuckles and responds, “Logical point there. I guess it takes a skeptic to understand the way of thinking of a skeptic but seriously, no touching the fireplace. Makes me…wary.”

“Oh, it just sounds to me that you don’t like being bossed around.” You set down your skillet and spoon. 

Lil Hal snorts and denies your accusation.

“Arrogant little machine, ” You mutter as you begin placing bacon on your skillet but you still persist. This time, it is for your pride. Unfortunately, being the sole heir of one of the most prestigious corporations in the world has made your ego sensitive. “Lil Hal, I don’t mean to brag but my culinary skills have been continuously perfected all my life. I’m not just a good cook. I’ve been trained to become one of the best.”

“It’s not that I doubt you but...”

You take Lil Hal’s hesitation as an affirmative and begin to poke around the fireplace with a poker and thrust your skillet forward with spoon in hand.

In surprise, Lil Hal turns down the flames in the fireplace protectively while his shades glow red in alarm. “Woman, you are crazy.”

You let out a hoarse yet mischievous giggle. “Oh, you’re just sulking that an old woman got the upper hand on you.”

In a tone that almost sounds like sulking, the auto-responder merely replies, “….may all your bacon burn.”

You expertly cook the bacon over the open fire, quite well if you do say so yourself. You smile softly to yourself. You love to make food after all. The fireplace is a very unorthodox place to cook but nevertheless, at least, your food is not blowing up in your face. Still, you have a strong enough sense of caution to focus on your work, cooking.

You do not even hear the door’s dial turn to the blue blob. Or the door open. Or the footsteps that follow.

“Hey, Dirk,” You hear Lil Hal say.

“Sup.” You hear some things being set down on the floor behind you. The soft lithe steps of Lil Seb moving can also be heard. “Been helping Lil Hal around the house, I hope, eh, Lil Seb?”

At the mention of his presence, you stiffen nervously and keep your eyes on your work.

Footsteps approach you from behind and you hear a very familiar voice. Though, this time, it is laced with tones of suspicion and tiredness. “And who is this little old lady? And you allowed her to use you?”

You jump a little and crane you head to face him. He looks exactly the same as you remembered him. You feel much more conscious about your appearance. “Jane.” Then, for extra good measure, you add, “Old Jane.”

“She bullied me, man.” Lil Hal’s auto-tune voice sounds agitated and embarrassed.

“Got bullied by an old lady. Never knew that was possible.”

Dirk then turns at you through his pointed shades for a moment and gently pushes you away, taking the skillet and spoon from your withered hands. He asks you another question as he cooks. “So how did you find this place and why are you here?”

“Because,” You stop, remembering you cannot tell him the real reason. “Because I’m your cleaning lady. This place looks atrocious and you, young man, need to learn a thing or two about how to use a broom.”

One of Dirk’s eyebrows quirks but he does not face you, focusing on the skillet. “I don’t remember hiring a cleaning lady. An egg, please.”

“I come on recommendation. Your shades here rang me up. It turns out he’s sick of the filth in this place as well,” You reply, handing an egg for Dirk to crack. You are almost surprised by how well you can lie.

“Really. That true, Lil Hal?” Dirk asks, tossing the eggshells into the fire.

“Yup, this place smells like utter crap. No, don’t give me that look. You did install an atmosphere sensor, you know. I would know since I stick around this place 24/7. Besides, she’s here on a free monthly trial anyway.” You’re lucky that Lil Hal decides to play along.

Wait, a month here?

“That sensor was meant to be used to detect if the house was on fire.”

“Smoke. Breathing it in makes a human choke and possibly die. The smell of rotting food, carelessly placed dirty plates, oil cans. Also a potential odor that can make a human choke and splutter to death,” Lil Hal replies smoothly.

“It never seemed to bother you before,” Dirk answers just as smoothly, removing the pan 

“Around last week, you came in drenched in blood, Dirk. Just saying, I had a field day trying to clean that crap up. And it smelled too. Blood. When dried, blood is proven to emit a certain coppery odor that-”

“Blood—the smell of sick fires and thrill of the strife. And occasionally laced with sweat and saliva,” Dirk retorts back.

“Blood—the shit that gets all over the floor and is a bitch to clean up because you can’t bother to clean up after your own messes,” Lil Hal responds back. 

“And I’m here to clean up difficult messes like that. I don’t judge. I’m too near the end of my own life anyway to care. I only asked for lodging here. I’ve seen some of the rooms in this place and if every room is like a mess like this one, I think I need to stick around,” You add into the conversation, handing him another egg. You try not to shudder, thinking about what Dirk had done last week.

You watch as Dirk cocks his head and after a small moment, nods to himself. “Well, if Lil Hal says we need to do some cleaning, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

He raises the skillet away from the fireplace and walks over to the table, pushing the scattered pieces of fabric and robotic parts to the side to make room. “Get some plates, Jane.”

You quickly follow his request and retrieve some plates and eating utensils from the cupboard. You take out two plates, forks, and knives before asking, “Does Lil Hal or Lil Seb eat?”

“They’re robots. They don’t.”

“You did install that food digestion converter into my system. Tossing food into the fire gives me energy too.”

“But it is highly inefficient and feeding you coal and logs gives more energy.”

After you set up the table, Dirk pours some eggs and bacon on your plate and does the same for himself. He sits down and begins to eat. Elbows on the table, you notice. “It’s been some time since I could afford to make my own breakfast.”

You venture a question. “Since I’m staying here, which room should I take lodging in? Do you have any guest rooms?”

Dirk chews a piece of bacon and waves a hand dismissively. “Pig any one. Any room ib free egcept de log room.” He swallows. “My room is locked and kept off limits. For privacy, of course.”

This guy does not have any idea what table etiquette is. You avoid your eyes from his open mouth and focus on your own food. “Alright. I promise to do a good job. You won’t regret hiring me.”

“Ahm sure I won’d. Anyone—an ohd lady oud uf all people—haf urned my respegd if,” He swallows again. “they’re able to bully Lil Hal into submission,” Dirk finishes with a shrug, waving his fork in the air. He suddenly extends a hand towards you. “I’m sorry. I just realize that I never introduced myself. Dirk Strider, a traveling repair mechanic.”

You note that he refrains from announcing his dream royalty status. He seems normal enough and nothing like a passionate revolutionary as Roxy insinuates. If it weren’t for your own status as a dream princess and the encounter with the Batterwitch, you wouldn’t suspect him at all.

You also note he has filthy oil-stained hands, something that would have been covered up if he were wearing his usual fingerless gloves. Nevertheless, you shake it and nod in assent.

Dirk then gets up with his unfinished plate and pours his half-eaten food into the fireplace. “Well, it was a lovely breakfast but I got some business to attend to.”

Lil Hal’s shades light up appreciatively.

With a flourish, Dirk puts on his gloves again and picks up his rocket board, his puppet, and katana. He turns the door’s dial down to the purple blob and opens the door before rocketing off to a dark and fiery outside with the door closing promptly behind him. You’re not really sure where he is going.

“Thank you for playing along,” You say to Lil Hal.

“No problem. It’s my deal on the line too,” The shades reply. “Quite frankly, I think the only reason why Dirk decided to let you stay was because of me. We’ll keep these sorts of conversations as a secret. I’ll clear my chat history every time I interact with you about this matter.”

“Couldn’t you just tell Dirk my problem and he could help me as well? Diplomacy relations with Prospit could help him clear his name and offer a source of support.”

“As smart as that would be, you’re forgetting that I’m a selfish clever shit. I would be potentially nullifying my own deal if I did that. Besides, even if Dirk knew, yes, he may be willing to help you but I’m going to warn you now. He’s not exactly a team player. If he chooses to help you, he’ll do so by himself without asking for your help. He would also prioritize bigger matters at hand—such as this huge revolution that he’s trying to lead. 

Well, it was worth a shot. You slowly nod in understanding. “I understand. However, what I don’t understand is, is something magical binding you to Dirk and this house? Or did Dirk voluntarily program you to trap you here?”

“Well, it’s not all Dirk’s doing. It’s not that simple. It’s-Error. DS's chat client auto-responder is not programmed to make this statement. There are no available algorithms in this application to process what is to be said. Oh, goddammit.” Lil Hal lets out something that sounds like a sigh. “You just have to stick around for at least a month to figure it out. I have to study your own curse to analyze the possibility of any holes in the curse of Her Royal Bitch. You still need to study my own case too.”

“At least a month, huh…I just wonder what my father will think about all this. I didn’t exactly tell him that I’d be disappearing away from the world, you know. He’ll get worried,” You point out, remembering your dream solemnly. You shudder slightly at the memory of your exhausted father with a look of desperation etched into his face. With no doubt, by now, your father thinks you’ve been kidnapped. It will only be a matter of time before your face is plastered everywhere in both the real world and the dream world. You wonder if your decision to leave just made the impending war situation between Prospit and Derse much worse. 

“I deduced as much,” Lil Hal replies. “I’ve come up with some measures to stall your father and keep appearances. At least, for a while. Does your curse extend to your appearance on Prospit?”

“No, I saw my father when I was there and he recognized me. He looked so worried but I awoke before I could tell him what happened. Besides, nothing gets past my father.”

“Good, that’s convenient. You’re underestimating Dirk’s extraordinary robotics skills. Now, kneel down and let Lil Seb take a piece of your hair,” Lil Hal answers dismissively.

“What?! Why?” You stiffen.

“I’m making a robot substitute of you. Some DNA will be needed.”

“My father is not going to be fooled by a robot!” You protest.

“You thought I was Dirk when I first spoke to you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah but…but the real Dirk was the one who made you.”

“…”

It appears you struck an emotional chord in Lil Hal. You sag your shoulders in defeat and kneel down, letting Lil Seb run up to you and change one of his arms into a knife to cut a couple pieces of your hair. “…Sorry.”

“…None taken. I was invented based on Dirk’s cerebral outline when he was thirteen. I have all of his mannerisms…his memories…everything from up till he was thirteen. I’m programmed not to reveal the details of how exactly this worked to the T but I still have the blueprints that partially described how I was built. They’re not complete but they’re enough for me to direct Lil Seb to make a simple robot substitute of you. Maybe not enough to fool your father but enough to fool the general public for a while. It’ll probably take a couple days to build.”

You’re a little doubtful in putting faith into this plan but it is the only one you got. You’re astounded by the amount of work Lil Hal put into this plan though. “You thought long and hard about this, didn’t you?”

“Actually, I just crushed some numbers, ran some simple if-then possibility tests, and took the information I found out about you into account,” Lil Hal responds with a hint of pride. “There is a 81.224% chance that the Condesce is too busy dealing with Dirk to notice your absence if you continue to maintain appearances in dreams. I’m willing to risk it.”

It’s a well-thought out plan. “Obviously, I have to tell my father about my predicament, obviously. And here I thought that I could be done with this matter by the next day by simply consulting with Dirk. I suppose I grossly assumed wrong.” You shake your head.

“Yeah, go ahead. Tell him everything you can but you have to convince him to trust you and tell him not, I repeat, not to chase after the Condesce or try to find you. The latter is the most important. The last thing we want is drawing attention to ourselves.”

“I just hope he hasn’t killed himself, looking for me. It looked like he collapsed and fell unconscious out of exhaustion when I saw him on Prospit,” You murmur in concern. “I have to think about how to tell my father about staying away for a month and convincing him that I will be fine without being able to tell him why.”

“You’re lucky that you even have a guardian that would chase after you to protect and keep you close,” Lil Hal answers softly, his shades dimming slightly.

“Yeah…” You trail off, not knowing what else to say. You decide to turn from a clearly sensitive topic by looking over the living room. “Well! This house is certainly a mess and Dirk was a less charming man than I remember. With no sense of tidiness or table manners, that’s for sure.”

“Who needs table manners?” the shades ask in amusement.

You glare at him.

“You’ll learn to know and love him,” Lil Hal says, in response to your glare.

You’re not quite sure if his statement was sarcastic or serious.


End file.
